


I Was Made For Lovin' You

by bisexual_smaug



Series: Coffees, cases and kisses (Mel Silver and Frankie Wharton) [1]
Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/F, Useless Lesbians, claw this ship out of my cold dead hands, frankie wharton - Freeform, give me my friends to lovers, mel silver - Freeform, the writers are cowards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexual_smaug/pseuds/bisexual_smaug
Summary: Mel Silver tries to ask Frankie Wharton for a drink, ends up saving her life





	I Was Made For Lovin' You

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between part i and ii of Anger Management (S3E3)

As she walked down the stairs Mel could hear the music coming from the lab. This wasn’t anything unusual, in fact 80s classic rock was one of the first things the two had bonded over. In fact nothing about this situation was particularly unusual. They were on a case, Mel needed results, Frankie needed coffee. Frankie always needed coffee (coffee and 80s rock, the true lesbian aesthetic?). Except, except.

Except this was the third time today Mel had got this far down the steps and had turned around abruptly and gone back to her desk. Except Mel hadn’t been able to focus on any work after those times. Except her hands were shaking slightly and she didn’t really feel like it was her walking down the stairs. Except Spence had found her pacing frantically in the smoking area (Mel didn’t smoke any more).

“Hey, Mel, you okay?”  
“What? Yeah I’m fine.”  
“You don’t look fine”  
Mel made to go back inside but Spence grabbed her by the wrist.  
“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”  
“I know”  
His eyes narrowed.  
“This isn’t about a guy, is it?”  
“What?”  
“Or a girl, or someone who isn’t either, I don’t know.”  
“Oi Spence!”  
His head tilted to one side and his eyes widened.  
“It is, isn’t it.”  
“Nope, it isn’t.”  
“Just tell him. Or her, or them. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”  
“Spence it’s not-“  
He just winked and walked away.

She’d stopped, again. This was silly, she told herself, you could just be delivering coffee. You are just delivering coffee. This is fine, this is all fine. She inhaled, shook her hair out her face, exhaled. The rest of the stairs felt like sinking into mud but she wasn’t looking back this time. The music became clearer now. KISS. Frankie wasn’t singing along though, must be a difficult piece of analysis.

She’d made it down the stairs now. The cleaning station was there, it must be later than she’d thought. Maybe coffee was a bad idea, maybe this whole idea was stupid and she’d laugh and think Mel was stupid and- no this was Frankie, coffee was welcome at all hours. She’d probably not eaten all day either. Maybe she should have brought a snack, maybe- 

With all her years on the police force, Mel knew what a struggle sounded like. The rapid, gasping coughs, the shoes sliding and scuffing on the floor, the sound of Frankie being pushed to her knees by a much stronger man with the completely wrong soundtrack in the background. The coffee fell to the floor as Mel’s instincts kicked in and she flung the door open and into the lab and no. As if in slow motion, Frankie, blindfolded, an arm round her neck, choking her, a knife pressed to the side of her head, was being pushed down to her knees as her attacker pressed a button on a recorder.

“You are in danger. You have the gun that I want,” it said.   
“Drop your weapon,” said Mel. 

The man swung around to face her, tightening his hold on Frankie. His recorder clattered to the floor as he switched his grip on her friend, pressing the knife to the vein at the top of her jaw. Mel had stared at that spot before, thinking about caressing it, pinning Frankie to a wall and kissing it. None of these scenarios had ever involved a knife being pressed there. 

“Give me the gun or she dies.”

Frankie was struggling to breathe now. 

“Put the knife down. Frankie where is the gun?”

She was choking now.

“Let her speak and I’ll get it for you.”

He released her neck, pressing her face first into the wall instead and holding her arms behind her, knife still at her neck. Definitely not how the pinning into the wall thing was supposed to go. 

“No,” she said, coughing, getting the air back into her lungs.  
“Tell her you stinking bitch.” He slammed her face against the wall.  
“Frankie I’m not risking this. Where’s the gun?”  
“Keys in my pocket,” she gasped. 

The man gestured at Mel with his head. “Get them. Be quick. No funny business.”

Mel raised her hands to her head, no weapons. Walked over to the pair. 

“Which pocket?”  
“Back right.”  
“Put the knife down.”

He did not, instead lowered it from her neck and held Frankie against the wall with both hands. In any other situation, Mel would have blushed at the thought of sticking her hand into Frankie’s jeans pocket. Right now she tried not to think about it, tried not to feel the gentle curve beneath her fingers. She was in a hostage situation for god’s sake. She could feel Frankie’s body shaking slightly beside her, feel her breath on the side of her face. She found the keys, pulled them out gently. They really were tight jeans. Mel hoped and prayed to a god she did not believe in that Frankie was in fit enough a state to understand what to do next. 

“Now!”

Mel shoved her elbow into the man’s face as Frankie tried to kick him in the knee and spin round. She missed, catching the edge of his calf and fell backwards into the wall. Mel tried to reach him but he was too quick, his fist colliding with her head before she had time to react. The world swam as Mel swayed, blinked once, and then Frankie was upright and the man had a knife and she had to do something even though the world was spinning. And he was going in to stab her and she had to do something. Mel was never quite sure what happened in those moments. The next thing she remembered was the two of them on the floor, she pinning his arms behind his back as he lay there not moving, still breathing but still. As if in slow motion, she looked up at Frankie, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes wide with fear as the red blood spread outwards from the knife planted in her stomach. She watched as her friend slid down the wall and landed heavily. Too late, too late, too late. 

“Mel-”

Frankie fell forward, forward, into Mel’s body, and suddenly Mel was holding her like she’d hoped but not like this, not like this. Blood soaked into Frankie’s shirt, staining it almost black, and was spreading, too fast. 

Too late, too late. It couldn’t be too late. 

“Spence!” No answer.

“SPENCE!” She was sobbing now. 

“Boyd, Grace!”

It couldn’t be too late. 

The lab phone was out of reach, up on the unit that had held the gun. Curse the lack of phone service in this place. She shuffled twice along the floor but no, Frankie wasn’t heavy but she was being moved too much. She had to keep her still. And stop the bleeding. And keep her alive. 

She grabbed the phone, dialled the number, knelt back down beside the other woman. Trying to find a pulse.

“Hi, Spence. I need you in the lab, now-   
Yes now-   
Bring security. And get an ambulance.”

God he was turning into Boyd. But Frankie’s pulse was there, she was still breathing. Mel ripped off her own cardigan and bundled it against Frankie’s stomach. Stop the bleeding, keep her alive. That was all she had to do. 

***

“So you just let him take the gun.”  
“He was going to kill her.”  
“Good god Mel you have one job.”

All it had taken was two hours and the doctor’s promise that Frankie would make it, for Boyd to start ripping into her.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’d have let one of us die.”

And somehow now, after (mostly) holding it together, Mel let herself feel something. The tears before had been of panic, now they were of relief. And she sobbed. Boyd seemed to soften.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Mel didn’t answer. He put an arm around her shoulder and they sat.

“She’s come round.” A doctor appeared around the door. Mel shot up before she’d even finished her sentence. 

“Oh thank god,” said Boyd, not far behind.

There she was, pale, weak, stuck full of needles and IVs, but alive and breathing and beautiful. It was all Mel could do to stop herself rushing up to her and kissing her. 

“Hey.”

Mel laughed, still full of tears. “Hey.”

“Thank you.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t. Doctor says I wouldn’t be alive if it you hadn’t.”  
“Don’t say that,” said Mel, softly.   
“I owe you my life. I mean it. Thank you.”

Mel sniffled.

“I could do with that coffee now though,” said Frankie. The doctor raised a hand as if to intervene. “I’m joking. You do owe me a raincheck on that coffee.”  
“We should get one sometime. Not the crap from the machine.”  
“I’d like to think I’m worth more than that.” Frankie winked, and then winced.

Mel could almost see Spence, eyes wide, thumbs up. Great job, you asked her out while she was in a hospital bed. Nice one. She rested her hand on Frankie’s and their fingers intertwined as she pulled her close into a sort of hug. Definitely not how she’d planned it but weirdly enough it had worked.


End file.
